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I believe the nearest I've come to perfect love was with a young coal-miner when I was about 16.

D. H. Lawrence

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D. H. Lawrence
Age: 45 †
Born: 1885
Born: January 1
Died: 1930
Died: January 1
Literary Critic
Novelist
Painter
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Translator
Writer
Eastwood
Nottinghamshire
David Herbert Lawrence
Lawrence H. Davison
D.H. Lawrence
D. H. Lorenss
D. G. Lourens
David Herbert Richards Lawrence
D. H. David Herbert Lawrence
Young
Come
Miner
Believe
Miners
Love
Nearest
Homosexuality
Coal
Sexuality
Perfect

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What's that as flies without wings, your ladyship? Time! Time!
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You can't insure against the future, except by really believing in the best bit of you, and in the power beyond it.
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A man and a woman are new to one another throughout a life-time, in the rhythm of marriage that matches the rhythm of the year. Sex is the balance of male and female in the universe, the attraction, the repulsion, the transit of neutrality, the new attraction, the repulsion, always different, always new.
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They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.
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In every great novel, who is the hero all the time? Not any of the characters, but some unnamed and nameless flame behind them all.
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Life is a travelling to the edge of knowledge, then a leap taken.
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Sex is just another form of talk, where you act the words instead of saying them.
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Plant consciousness, insect consciousness, fish consciousness, all are related by one permanent element, which we may call the religious element inherent in all life, even in a flea: the sense of wonder. That is our sixth sense, and it is the natural religious sense.
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The mind is ashamed of the blood. And the blood is destroyed by the mind, actually. Hence palefaces.
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Marriage and deathless friendship, both should be inviolable and sacred: two great creative passions, separate, apart, but complementary: the one pivotal, the other adventurous: the one, marriage, the centre of human life and the other, the leap ahead.
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All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.
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The world is wonderful and beautiful and good beyond one's wildest imagination. Never, never, never could one conceive what love is, beforehand, never. Life can be great-quite god-like. It can be so. God be thanked I have proved it.
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Perhaps only people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the universe. The others have a certain stickiness, they stick to the mass.
D. H. Lawrence
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The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can't wake up.
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And in this passion for understanding her soul lay close to his she had him all to herself. But he must be made abstract first.
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Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.
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Why were we driven out of Paradise? Why did we fall into this gnawing disease of unappeasable dissatisfaction? Not because we sinned. Ah, no. All the animals in Paradise enjoyed the sensual passion of coition. Not because we sinned. But because we got sex into our head.
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We are so conceited and so unproud.
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Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.
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Be careful, then, and be gentle about death. For it is hard to die, it is difficult to go through the door, even when it opens.
D. H. Lawrence